Winter Hearts
by Alpacca Joe
Summary: Brittany Taylor: Cheerful, bubbly, dim as an unlit stage. Or perhaps not. Someone finally takes the effort to look closer, and things are never the same again. HIATUS
1. She Tries To Breathe

**Disclaimer**: 'Daria' is owned by a hellova lotta people, none of em me, and if you sue all you'll get out of it is a linty green penny and a worn out pair of chucks. Leave me to my poverty.

**Winter Hearts**: _She Tries To Breathe_

A Daria Fanfic

When Kevin meandered into Brittany's room she was perched on the window seat, one leg propped up, writing in her diary. Her face was, to him, unusually serious and she seemed to be adrift in the sea of deep thought. As Kevin moved closer, Brittany stopped writing and brought her left hand up to idly twirl her hair in an absent manner. Along her forearm were what appeared to be a series of long scratches, some of which dripped with fresh blood. The Quarter Back's simple face creased in a frown as he closed the door behind him.

"Hey babe. What happened to your arm?"

Brittany's head snapped around at the squeaky voice, eyes unusually sharp and void of the emptiness which usually glazed the rich blue orbs. When she registered Kevin's presence she pulled down the sleeve of the maroon turtleneck she wore and unconsciously rubbed her sweaty palms against the legs of her faded blue jeans. She shrugged and smiled with as much vacant cheer as she could muster.

"You know how Miss Kitty is, she gets cranky when I try to hold her too long." _And you'll just believe it, won't you? __**Kevvie?**_ Her expression darkened slightly, but naturally, Kevin didn't notice.

Kevin's large calloused hand stole out and gently grasped Brittany's wrist as his other hand carefully peeled the sleeve back. The soft fabric yielded easily and Kevin's face was pulled tight in a frown as he studied the angry red slashes along his girlfriend's creamy skin.

"Wow, your cat really must've been ticked off. These look nasty, babe. Maybe you should go to the doctor and get them looked at?"

Brittany's expression softened at the genuine concern in his boyish voice. She extracted her arm gently and once again covered the disturbing sight.

"It's okay, Kevvie. I'll be fine." _That's right, blondie. You just keep telling yourself that, and maybe one of these days it'll be true._

That thought immediately brought the disconsolate teen back to that night at the club, when, in search of herself and something to cling too besides the empty comforts of everyday routine, Brittany had dyed her hair black and draped herself in clothes that more closely matched her state of mind. Maybe she hadn't made the best choice of companions that night, but the end result –spending time with Jane and her friends with no threat of social alienation– had been well worth the trouble... and the vomit. She found herself suddenly yearning for such a drastic change, and wondered when she would next get a chance to run down to Drugs and Stuff.

"Hey, where's your cat, anyway? It's never around when I'm here." Kevin glanced around the room as if expecting it to reveal itself at any moment. Brittany fought the urge to grab one of the heavy boots from the floor beside her and beat the oblivious football player over the head with it until he lost consciousness. She managed to restrain herself and toyed with her pen, a fur-topped pink monstrosity, in an effort to retain her bubbly blond facade.

"Kevvie, you _know_ Miss Kitty doesn't like boys."

One good thing about Kevin was that he took any explanation at face value, no matter how absurd, and never argued. The dim bulb of Lawndale High grinned his empty grin and scratched his head. As usual, he thumped himself rather loudly and, also as usual, Brittany listened for the rattle of his pea-sized brain within the vast cavern of his skull. Again, she heard nothing, thus confirming that his head was, indeed, empty.

"Oh, yeah! Hey, d'you think your cat's one of those, you know, thespians?" The beleaguered cheerleader felt her cheek twitch and, face carefully blank, she turned back to the refuge of her diary. She barely noticed Kevin sit down on her bed and pick up one of her stuffed animals, a pink bunny with blue button eyes.

"Yes, Kevin." she muttered darkly through clenched teeth. "My non-existent cat is an actress who avoids all men because when they're around, she gets pissed and scratches the shit out of me. Because that's believable, isn't it?"

For a long moment, silence reigned in the Taylor household. The only sound within that silence was the furious scratch of Brittany's pen against paper and finally, the long, relieved sigh as said pen was placed tenderly between the pages of the diary and put aside. Timidly, almost guiltily Brittany's sapphire gaze was drawn past her bed to the small night stand which stood beside it. Within those drawers sat vials and vials of medication; uppers, downers, mood stabilizers and anti-depressants, painkillers and sleeping pills. An impressive arsenal, all provided for her by her very own father, through connections better left unnamed. The army that helped her fight the losing battle against her empty life, a little less effective each day. But...

Brittany looked down at her diary and smiled softly, reached a perfectly manicured hand down to caress the pink cover tenderly. This was her real protection. Within the hard covers of that little pink book stood the only thing keeping her from filling the void with twelve vials of colorful emptiness, all at once. Her stories. Her poetry. Her creations.

Unbidden, a face framed by a pair of thick black glasses smirked at the lost girl from within her mind. Large blue eyes blinked, then lowered sadly. Daria. How ironic that the most alienated girl in town was the one --one of the only ones-- who could truly understand how she felt? They shared a passion, those two girls from opposite ends of society's tightrope, and if she had the chance, the courage, Brittany would reach out across the abyss and take Daria's hand in friendship. Daria Morgendorfer was, perhaps, the only girl alive who might not only understand the verses which filled that absurd little book, but might actually appreciate them. And then...

A girl with an angular, feline face and short black hair appeared beside Daria, an identical smirk on her red lips. And then there was Jane. An artist, someone who thought in whorls of colors and shapes, in tones of emotion and a spectrum of raw material rather than words and phrases. They'd been going to school together for their entire lives. If anyone saw the change in Brittany, saw the pain reflected in her glazed eyes during the agonizing, near-insufferable hours she spent at school and football games, pep rallies and all other manner of inane school functions, it would be Jane Lane. She saw the world in a different light. Artists breathed pain; they could recognize it anywhere.

Movement out of the corner of her eye drew Brittany's attention to the window. On the street below, she watched with an ache of longing as a group of perhaps six girls and boys dressed almost entirely in black walked down the street, joking and laughing loudly. They knew who they were, didn't care what anyone thought and apologized for nothing. How she envied them. One of the girls happened to glance up as they passed the house. Black eyes met blue and locked in place. Andrea was struck by the pain and longing in Brittany Taylor's gaze and couldn't help but be drawn to it; without really realizing what she was doing, Andrea smiled sadly and waved. Surprised and touched, Brittany waved back.

A touch on her arm brought the girl back to her bedroom and she glanced up into a pair of childishly cheerful eyes. Kevin. How long had he been here?

"Hey Britt, you wanna head to Pizza King and grab a slice?" The genuine affection in those eyes made Brittany sad and guilty. He didn't know the life he was living wasn't his own. But what other choice did he have? What other choice did she? "I'll even order that cheeseless veggie pizza you like, my treat."

With a small sigh, Brittany nodded. Who knew? Maybe a slice of hot pizza would help to warm the winter cold that had taken residence in her heart. Still... She glanced longingly back at the window seat, the book which lay upon it and the street beyond the clear glass where a empathetic Goth girl had unknowingly given a lost cheerleader the hope she needed.

She wouldn't get her hopes up.

A gust of errant wind blew through Brittany Taylor's bedroom as the door swung shut behind her. Left unattended on the cushioned seat, a small pink book blew open and the pages fluttered until a passage, marked with a repellant animal-print pen lay open to the stuffed bunny sitting beside it.

_She tries to breathe. _

_The water is pounding against her, weakening her with every blow. There is nothing to hold on to, and perhaps that is for the best. The water pulls at her legs, and at the same time pushes her upward. She feels as though she is being stretched, but her body has been pulled as far as it will go. How long can she hold out before she is rent in two?_

_And still, she tries to breathe._

_There is a hand extended to her, just within reach. But she does not reach out for it. She watches its owner's shocked and dismayed expression as she is swept further downstream, and she smiles a bit. Is it an apologetic smile, or perhaps a rueful smile at the Owner's presumption that assistance was needed? The smile fades as she is pulled under momentarily, and gags as her head once again breaks the surface. Her eyes are blinded by brutally cold water, her face bruised from the savage onslaught. Her mouth is half-filled with mud and liquid, and she fights to remain conscious. Her chin drops lower and lower until it rests in the water, mouth mere inches from the surface. This struggle can last no more than the time it takes to blink, yet her eyes cannot be seen. Are they open? No, perhaps they are closed. Alas, it cannot be seen, as she is lost in the current._

_And somehow this river has become an ocean._

_Yet, she tries to breathe_.

**End**

**A/N**: First things first. Cutting is bad, as is drug abuse of any kind. If you're depressed or know someone who is, take the steps to get help.

This was my first Daria fic. If it sucked, who cares? I did it cuz I felt like it. Review if you like, tell me what you thought and if you think I should expand this story into a series or leave it as is. **NO FLAMES**. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

The passage "Lost In The Current" is copyright Josette Henriquez 2005

As always, all flames will be used to roast the marshmallows.

Later days.


	2. Like Minds

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own Daria or anything to do with the show. If I did, the entire series would be out on DVD by now and everyone would be happy. HAPPY, DAMMIT! Sue and you will be subjected to the afore mentioned settlement, minus the linty green penny. I chucked it at a Jehovah's Witness last weekend. You'll just have to settle for a used gum wrapper and some earwax, in stead.

**Winter Hearts**: _Like Minds_

A Daria Fanfic

Brittany looked up from her barely-touched lunch and directly into a pair of China-blue eyes. Jane Lane was watching her intently from across the cafeteria, face carefully neutral and when she noticed the source of her friend's suddenly rapt attention, Daria's bland gaze soon followed. Whether she meant it to be or not, Daria's was a patented gimlet stare and Brittany soon began to feel as though she were a prized Pekinese on display for a harsh, unforgiving panel of judges. She fidgeted in her seat but did not drop her gaze; some primal survival instinct seemed to be whispering to the busty blonde that to drop her gaze would be inviting the predators to attack. Resolute, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin ever-so-slightly in defiance. Jane blinked in surprise, then smirked and nodded, seemingly satisfied. A murmur to her cohort and the Derisive Duo of Lawndale High took their leave. Before pushing through the cafeteria's double doors, Daria glanced back. As her passive gaze once again met the surprisingly deep pools that were Brittany Taylor's eyes, the renowned Brain smirked and in her eyes flashed some foreign emotion. Then the doors swung shut and Daria was gone.

Before this unexpected interlude, Brittany had been lost in the forest of her own over-grown thoughts, content to allow the vapid prattling of the popular to wash over her in an unsubstantiated tide of gossip and tabloid propaganda. But upon discovery of her impromptu audience, Brittany had acted instinctively rather than adhere to the conduct of the Upper Echelons of the High School Caste System which she had been following almost obsessively since freshman year; rather than look up and greet Jane with her usually bubbly squeak, she had treated the girl as a person. From the sudden silence that dropped over the table like a heavy curtain, Brittany knew the others had noticed.

Kevin was oblivious as usual, but Angie and the other cheerleaders had noticed their pigtailed comrade's slip and even Mack was looking at her curiously. Brittany sighed inwardly, twirled the end of one pigtail around her finger and plastered a vacant smile on her pretty face. She had effortlessly snapped the idiot teen mask back into place, and was hating herself for it every second.

"Wow, that Daria girl and her art friend are like, really weird." She may have been playing it a little too dim, even for her idiot teen persona, but that little blonde-ism had done what she'd hoped it would. Within seconds of this comment, the shallow and the shallow minded began their discussion of "the Brain" and her "art friend," despite the fact most of them had known Jane at least as long as Brittany herself did. Disgust welled inside her like magma in a volcano and, drowning in self-loathing, the morose teen retreated into her bleak thoughts as she pushed uneaten cafeteria lasagna around and around her plate in a never-ending cycle of depression. Mack continued to study his friend's girlfriend for a moment longer before standing and striding purposefully away.

Quinn Morgendorffer sat adrift in her own sea of superficiality, a delicate frown on her perky features as she watched the silent exchange between her sister's friend and the Quarter Back's sweetheart. Although she hadn't been expecting Brittany's sudden show of personality, Quinn couldn't exactly say she was surprised. If anyone with half a brain cared to pay a little attention, they would know Brittany Taylor was far from stupid. Just her effortless manipulation of the sorrowfully vacant Kevin Thompson was more than proof enough of her brain capacity and if she was really as stupid as she seemed, Quinn mused, she would never be capable of remaining on the Squad.

Still, Quinn knew all too well the deep bruises inflicted by popularity's shackles, and the masks that accessorized with them all too perfectly. She, too was forced to sacrifice character and personality in favor of Society's golden crown, the one time she had dared forsake the inane rituals still fresh in her mind. Quinn had been genuinely proud of her essay, and through **Academic Imprisonment** had openly expressed herself for the first time in her life. She had been unashamed of being referred to as a Brain and in that brief moment, Quinn had felt an affinity to her sister and an understanding toward her she would never have imagined. She finally understood why Daria spent so long in front of her computer and scribbling in those many notebooks –the simple joy of creation was as liberating as it was fulfilling. In that brief glow of appreciation, Quinn had felt more free than any time in her public life. Then Popularity's shackles had once again descended upon her with a swift and violent justice, and Society's golden crown had turned out in truth to be a crown of gilded thorns.

Just the memory of such harsh disillusionment brought a sour tang to Quinn's mouth, and she soon recognized the taste as bitter resentment. The truth was, she hadn't _wanted_ to renounce her new identity, she'd _liked_ being openly intelligent and people treating her accordingly. Sure, she'd still played the cards High School had dealt her to some small degree; she liked the attention. It may have been an empty validation, but it still made her feel wanted and accepted by people. She even enjoyed playing that little joke, the "poem" she'd written over lunch, "The Greasy Fry." Quinn smiled a tiny, content smile at the memory.

_Greasy fry,_

_You cannot lie;_

_The truth is written_

_On my thigh._

Truthfully, it was just a tiny experiment with the A-A-B-A rhyme scheme, a joke quatrain she'd written just for fun. But she just couldn't resist pulling those silly, sweet boys' legs. Quinn knew they hung on her every word and, even knowing it was just a tiny bit mean to do so, wanted to see how they'd react. The smile slowly slipped from the painted pink lips as another memory asserted itself. How it had turned so quickly. A dull anger suffused Quinn's petite form at the memory of the moment her freedom was stripped from her as cruelly as ripping the wings from an Eagle. Joey, Jeffy and Jamie had grown tired of Quinn's substance and complexity; they preferred her shallow and simple, like a puddle. That's all she was to them: a puddle. Hers was an existence that could end as quickly as it began; one overly warm day and she could vanish as though she'd never been. And that was fine with them, with all of them. Else, why would they have gone to Daria? Their minds were too simple to come up with the theory "transfer of property," they could only grasp the vaguest concept; Two Morgendorffers (1 Brain : 1 Pop). If Morgendorffer Pop suddenly became Morgendorffer Brain, then in order to maintain the delicate balance of the Lawndale High Ecology, Morgendorffer Brain must then become Morgendorffer Pop. Transfer of property.

Quinn sneered prettily down at her near-empty tray. They would never know the real reason she'd come back into this purgatory. They'd all assumed it was jealousy, or even envy. But no. It was love. Quite simply, Quinn loved her sister, whether she admitted it aloud or not. Seeing Daria as she was, dressed in the stage clothes that matched her part in the suburban production of "Lawndale! High School Hell!" had been like walking into a nightmare. Seeing her brilliant, sarcastic, unique, cynical, beautiful sister dressed in the tight jeans and revealing pink top had been like gazing into a Fun House mirror; it was everything she hated about herself, everything she wanted to change, on Daria. And it looked great on her.

The fact that Quinn's persona looked so at home on her stoic sister was sobering as a bucket of ice water in winter cold. She'd felt that icy chill permeate her heart at the sight and made the decision in an instant. What Daria was, was beautiful. She was honest, intelligent and genuinely knew who she was. She apologized for nothing, and had friends who truly cared about her _for her_. If she took up Quinn's mantel in an attempt to bring her back to her perky pink hell, and the younger Morgendorffer sister ignored the attempt, everything that Daria was would be at risk. Quinn had no desire to go back to that hollow lifestyle; for once, she was happy. But it would be best if she decided to view this short foray into the Brain's life as a vacation from the norm; let Daria think she was manipulating her into it, the elder Morgendorffer would reclaim her reputation in no worse wear and anyway, it was far better for Quinn to suffer than her sister. After all, Quinn thought with a smile, how many Brains could one family take?

"Quinn, sorry if official Fashion Club matters are so uninteresting to you that you feel it's necessary to read the ingredients on the back of your diet soda rather than participate in this very important lecture on the disadvantages of improperly plucked brows, but as Vice President it is your responsibility to listen and correct Tiffany on any reasoning that seems off-point."

"Of course, Sandi," the petite red-head simpered as her eyes focused into a sharp glare. _What could be more important than listening to a brainless twit drone on about primitive hair removal techniques? Oh, that's right. Listening to Upchuck lecture on the many uses of ass-hair in modern medicine! Or possibly __**anything else! **_A deep, cleansing breath relieved some of the mental pressure and a plausible excuse soon came to mind. "I was just thinking about Connie's outfit today. I mean, did you _see_ what she was wearing? A coffee scarf witha _burnt umber top_? And white cowboy boots! Oh, I would just _die!_"

Sandi shook her head in disapproval, Stacy and Tiffany in to much shock to do anything more than stare.

"Truly, a mal-informed fashion choice." That effectively turned the tide of conversation, and for that Quinn was glad. For just a little while, she had allowed her mask to drop. If Sandi had realized what had happened, she would have not have hesitated to pounce on the moment of vulnerability. After all, that was what predators did; they waited to catch their prey unawares, and showed no mercy. Quinn almost laughed when she realized how ironic it was; here she had been thinking about how Brittany had allowed herself to be seen briefly as she truly was not five minutes ago, and had just made the same mistake. A sudden intuition made her glance up and, sure enough, she caught Brittany's enigmatic gaze with her own. She was, for some reason, unwilling to let the sea-blue eyes slip away and so held them as firmly as a drowning man clutches a fraying rope. Whatever it was Brittany was thinking, Quinn would find out if she needed to sit here for the rest of the day.

Brittany jumped slightly, surprised at the directness of Quinn's gaze and how she wouldn't let it slip away. She had been watching Quinn since she'd caught the younger girl studying her from the other table, and was shocked at what she saw. It had been almost like looking into a mirror when she saw the emotions playing across the red-head's dimpled face, and Brittany couldn't bring herself to look away. Several long seconds drew into a long, breathless moment as the heavy gaze lingered and the two girls found themselves drawn. Each knew without a doubt that they had, against all odds, found the one who could truly understand the other's pain.

The bell rang, its indifferent trill acting like a hatchet blade on a silk string; inevitably, the bond was broken. As students rose to dump their trays and wander their reluctant ways to class, Quinn hurriedly reached into her teddy bear back-pack and paged through her pink, flower-covered diary. Coming to the entry she wanted, she deftly ripped the page from the book and stood. As she passed by Brittany's table, Quinn made sure to brush her hand against the older girl's and glanced back into her eyes. The short exchange told the cheerleader all she needed to know.

At her locker and mercifully Kevin-free, Brittany opened the crumpled pink paper. Her already wide eyes filled with tears as she read the short passage and looked almost frantically around the crowded hall, hoping to catch a flash of long scarlet hair.

_Dear Diary,_

_Is it wrong that I miss being called Quinn the Brain? That I long for the label that makes my sister such an outcast, that I want nothing more than to be as unknown as she is? I know it's selfish to wish for her life, and to tell the truth, I wouldn't force mine on anyone. It's just I'm so tired of talking about nothing but boys and cars and the latest, trashy trends in the teeny-bopper magazines these shallow, vapid drones worship as though it were holy scripture. I miss being free to say what I really think. I miss being looked up to for something worthwhile. I miss being real. I guess this is the closest I'll come to being honest for a long time. At least with you, I don't have to pretend._

_I can only keep this up so long. _

_The laughs. _

_The smiles. _

_The cheery disposition. _

_They don't really matter. _

_So why do I bother? _

_Why? Because they're not important. _

_Not important enough to tell the truth. _

_So, for them I laugh. _

_For them, I smile. _

_For them, I'm happy. _

_They're not important enough to know me. _

_So why does it matter if I lie?_

On the quad, Daria and Jane stood conversing quietly but intensely, oblivious to the bell meant to call wayward students back to the flock. Every so often, one would look at her watch and glance around the quad, obviously awaiting the arrival of a third party. Finally Jane spotted her approaching from the opposite direction and tapped Daria on the shoulder, eyes on their belated guest. They were silent as she approached and greeted her with a small nod before leading her into the building. The lateness of their return was reflected in the emptiness of the halls. All the better; the fewer possible eavesdroppers, the better.

"You were right," Daria commented as they walked, the only other sound the clomp of their respective boots and shoes.

"Gotta admit, I was skeptical." Jane said thoughtfully and turned china-blue eyes on their shorter companion.

"I knew there was something going on." Andrea frowned, black-painted lips catching the scarce light and seeming to shimmer. "No way a brainless cheer-bitch could look that lost. At least, not outside of a library." Daria and Jane chuckled appreciatively and the trio stopped outside their class.

"There's hope for her yet." Daria looked between Andrea and Jane several times. "Are we sure we want to do this?" Jane and Andrea exchanged a look and identical smirks crept up on their respective lips.

"That all depends, Indiana Morgendorffer. You up for an adventure?"

Jane's smile was hard to resist and, with a small one of her own, Daria nodded her ascent. They might regret it later, but who was she to pass up this chance? They opened the door, studiously ignoring the admonishment about their tardiness lashed at them by the teacher and very deliberately flanked Brittany on three sides. It was probably just coincidence that the only empty seats happened to surround the melancholic teen, but Daria decided to just accept the good luck. Either way, Operation Cheerleader Liberation had officially begun.

**A/N** Well then. There you have chapter two. It was a bit longer than the first chapter, but with two main perspectives it was necessary in order to say what needed saying. It's a bit late and I'm tired, so if there's anything that's inconsistent or doesn't make sense, let me know and I'll fix it when I get the chance.

More legal drek: the poem "Persona" is copyright Josette Henriquez 2003. All rights, and all that good. C&C always welcome, as well as questions. Reviews are always appreciated.

And without a doubt, all flames will be used to roast the marshmallows.

Later days.


	3. Reclamation

**Disclaimer**: I don't even own proper art supplies, much less a animated series like Daria. I have no money, sue at your own financial loss.

**Winter Hearts**: _Reclamation_

A Daria Fanfic

Brittany smiled. It wasn't the hollow smile everyone was used to seeing but a slow, closed-lipped expression of contentment that looked much more at home on her face. Her eyes (no longer contracted to dull blue pin pricks) shone as she looked from the mirror to the girl holding it.

"It's perfect!" Jane smiled and set the mirror on the table as she admired her handiwork.

It was now Friday, ten days since the impromptu intervention following their Economics class. With the help of a well-placed lie, Daria, Jane and Andrea had managed to pile themselves into Brittany's car and abscond with the bewildered girl well before school was over. They had taken her to Casa Lane, where it was determined (after a long and heavy silence) that the first step in the Reclamation of Brittany Taylor was to be, of all things, a make over. Before a course of action could be finalized, Brittany had demanded an explanation of the bizarre circumstances which had resulted in her sitting in a corner of the barren Lane kitchen, three strange girls blocking any means of escape. After a brief silence and a few furtive glances, Jane shrugged and nodded to her two accomplices. The four of them spoke for some time and after the spilling of her proverbial guts, Brittany felt as though a planet had been lifted from her slim shoulders. She agreed to accompany Andrea to Dega Street while Daria and Jane disappeared in the opposite direction. An hour or so later, they'd reconvened at Casa Lane and after a promise to meet there after school the following day, went their separate ways.

Now it was seven o'clock, an hour before they were to meet Trent and the rest of Mystik Spiral at the Zon and Brittany had officially been off her drugs for two days. It had been one of the conditions of the intervention, and she had willingly cleaned her stash of everything but the customary bottle of aspirin and flushed bottle after bottle down the toilet with a growing sense of relief. When the final vial was empty, Brittany wept. She had knelt amongst the graveyard of empty pill bottles, face in her hands, and cried out every overwhelming emotion in her body. A bracing hand squeezed one shaking shoulder and a tentative hand patted the other. Only Andrea stood back, unaccustomed to emotional displays of any kind. But when Brittany had turned to her with watery blue eyes, the reclusive Goth offered the girl a genuine smile that had been enthusiastically returned.

Brittany turned her head this way and that, admiring the purple and black streaks that went through her now honey-blonde hair. Jane had applied the dye judiciously, the purple mostly around Brittany's eyes and the slight bob that fell around her shoulders. The undisturbed length that fell to her mid back held the bulk of the black, the last two inches of her hair seeming to have been dipped in ink. On her left ear were two shining silver hoops, recent additions, picked up at **Axl's Piercing Parlor** on the day Andrea had taken Brittany to Dega Street to go shopping.** The Funky Doodle** had been their next stop, and after a quick perusal of their wears, a very smirky Brittany had picked out and purchased the outfit she now wore.

The dress was black and short, off the shoulder with cap sleeves that extended in a gauzy lace that cinched around the wrists, held in place with silver buckles. Around her waist she wore a vintage gold chain belt from the 70's, the links in the shapes of moons and suns. Her boots were knee length leather with buckles at the ankle and steel caps at the toe, the ensemble capped off by the lacy black choker at her throat with a clasp in the shape of a silver sun and crescent moon.

Daria allowed herself a small smirk when Brittany looked up and caught her eye with a brilliant smile, but was caught unawares when her hand was captured between both of the taller girl's.

"Daria, thank you so much." Long hair swayed as Brittany looked to the other two girls standing in the Lane kitchen, eyes bright with gratitude and unshed tears. "Andrea, Jane. I would have never done this myself, and..." She shook her head, smile at once amused and self deprecating. "Just thank you."

There was a short silence, broken by a slightly pink-faced Daria.

"It's, uh, time to get going." She cleared her throat and offered one of her rare Mona Lisa smiles. "See how everyone reacts to the new Brittany Taylor."

Smirks were shared by all and after piling into Brittany's little red sports car, they were gone.

--

The Zon was colored by the usual crowd, raucous music thrumming through their bones as they bobbed their heads to the band on stage. Mystic Spiral was really on tonight, having started the set with their old stand by, _Ice Box Woman_ and moved on into _Mister Normal_. _Paingasm_ received mixed reviews, but after a short introduction and a dedication to "a pretty cool kid" Trent Lane looked directly at Brittany, smiled and introduced their next song as _Reclaimed_.

"This one's for Brittany." And they began to play.

"_I had nothin goin on in my brain,  
__I could flip burgers or cure cancer and it'd be just the same,  
__Then someone turned the light on and I turned to the sky,  
__I got duct tape on my broken wings, teach me to fly!_

_I'm liberated, vindicated,  
__Was gonna just lay down and die, but I've been persuaded.  
__Gonna dust off my pride, ignore the rain,  
__Gonna dance like no one's watchin cuz my souls' been reclaimed!_"

Brittany found herself grinning despite the song's terrible meter, horrible lyrics and out of tune guitars. The fact that the song had been written for her, in celebration of her successful reclamation made her want to laugh out loud and, as in the song, dance like no one was watching. A mischievous grin stretched plump lips as a very hyper cheerleader grabbed Jane's hands and pulled her into a crazy dance, perfectly in rhythm with the music. Jane was bewildered at first, but after a few seconds grinned and rose easily to Brittany's challenge, matching her step for step, spin for spin, and laughing all the while.

"_I'm satiated, exonerated,  
__Wanna sing like Micky Jagger cuz baby, I made it!  
__Wanna soar like the birds, fly high as the planes,  
__Wanna party on the sun like I'm goin insane!_

_Gonna laugh at the wind, kiss in the rain,  
__Gonna dance like no one's watchin cuz my life is reclaimed!_"

The cheers were deafening and unending, and in the midst of it all Jesse Moreno claimed the mic and pointed to Brittany with a wide smile on his face.

"Brittany Taylor!"

Jane, Andrea and Daria joined in the applause (if the latter two, much more sedately) and Brittany flushed in pleasure as she took a bow.

Trent took the chance for a break between sets and hopped down to the dance floor from the stage. He sauntered over to the girls, hands in his pockets and graced a beaming Brittany with one of his serene smiles. He then turned his gaze on Daria, whose eyes widened like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming jeep.

"Hey, Daria. What'd you think of the song?" He wasn't expecting anything more than the usual 'cool,' spoken in a murmur nearly too low to hear. Daria surprised him by smiling and speaking in sentences more complex than monosyllables.

"Not bad. I liked that bit about the duct tape." Trent's smile widened slightly and he rubbed the back of his neck in what one could only assume was an embarrassed gesture. Jane knew better, and with a dull sense of shock realized Trent was _shy_.

"Yeah, well. You know what they say about duct tape." Daria's smile widened and she tilted her head playfully.

"'It has both a dark side and a light side--"

"'And it holds the universe together.'" they finished in tandem, and laughed. The youngest of the Lane siblings looked on with a morbid sense of wonder.

"I guess there is such a thing as miracles."

Daria tossed her friend a look of exasperated affection as Trent climbed back on stage. Jane produced her battered Polaroid and drafted someone in the audience, some guy in a top hat, to take pictures as the foursome gathered before the stage, Mystic Spiral crouching to be included in the shot. The camera flashed four times, and each of the girls returned to their respective homes with a memento of Brittany Taylor's coming out party.

In the photo, the blonde girl stood just slightly in front of the others, Jane's arm around her shoulders at her right as Daria and Andrea waved or raised amused eyebrows at the camera to the left. In the far left corner of the snapshot, back beside the stage was a girl with wavy brown hair who looked on with surprised doe eyes, an open cell phone pressed to one ear.

By first period Monday morning, everything had changed.

_Reclamation_: **End**

Alpacca bites: Yeah, took me long enough, huh? Well, writer's block's a bitch. And I'm also working on a couple other projects at the same time, so with something like Winter Hearts, which is primarily a serious story, it's gonna take a little more effort. And, well, my brain's not working so good. And so far as my track record goes to show, a six month wait's nothin. But I appreciate your patience, truly. And... I apologize for that horrible Mystic Spiral song. Seriously. I know it was bad, so please, try not to laugh too hard.

As usual, C&C welcome, even appreciated.

And all flames will be used to roast the marshmallows.

Later days.


End file.
